


Grounded

by MorellaLee



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A bit PWP, AKA erotica with some feelings, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23612041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorellaLee/pseuds/MorellaLee
Summary: Gertrude has everything under control.
Relationships: Agnes Montague/Gertrude Robinson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	Grounded

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for a friend who is endlessly lovely.

_Paper burns well, petrol burns better._

A mantra close and sacred from the moment she walks into the room.

More like striding, of course, but getting lost in semantics is a distraction. Unproductive. Which Gertrude most certainly is not.

Even now. Especially now.

Extending her hand (which Gertrude only notes for practicality’s sake, surely), she ghosts her fingers down the spines of spiralized reports, catalogued statements. A Leitner recently brought from artifact storage. Calculated nonchalance. Or a promise of what’s to come.

Stop.

“Agnes, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

She smiles then. And god, it is beautiful.

Gertrude teeters at the precipice of a revelation, momentarily obscured. Though, a voice helpfully reminds, if she just would lean forward, she could _see_. She could-

“I’ve missed you,” Agnes breathes, fingers at last reaching for her. Gertrude’s skin sings numb then bursts feverish where they touch.

Nearly dazed, Gertrude pulls her close. Though still conscious enough to breathe, to convince herself she is very much alert and very much in control. She can feel her heartbeat through her thighs and chest.

Arched over her, Agnes sighs. Her eyes are bright enough to blind.

“I’ve missed how you feel inside me.”

Gertrude startles for the briefest moment, hands tightening in her hair. Then laughs, because being this far seduced is absolutely absurd.

As is the realization she really doesn’t mind.

Lips against her neck, Agnes is searing. “Please, I’ll be go-”

Gertrude bites down because she doesn’t want to hear the rest.

Because with Agnes, there is allure. There is danger. She’s an avatar of lust and fire and blood and gold and-

Genuine affection, which…

Gertrude can’t think about, not now. Not while there is work to be done. Not while rituals are emerging (and _failing_ ). Not while-

Agnes moans sharply as she presses against her, kissing with a fervor that leaves Gertrude near breathless and very much grateful she is no longer entirely human. It can’t be helped, of course, when she surges after her, trying desperately to remember anything at all to keep her grounded.

_Tell me something you can see._

Opening her eyes was concerning in that she couldn’t quite recall closing them. But Agnes is alight as she rocks against her, grin becoming infatuated and dangerous as Gertrude urges her onto the desk.

_Tell me something you can hear._

Rayon slips easily, thankfully. The rustle barely audible over her own breathing which, despite everything, comes staccato and stuttered against Agnes’s flawless thighs.

_Tell me something you can smell._

Everything. The long forgotten cigarette left burning in her ashtray (Wright’s halfhearted chastisement still fresh in her mind). The soothing scent of worn wood. The headiness that is undeniably sex and undeniably Agnes.

_Tell me something you can taste._

It should hurt, Gertrude thinks, to experience an avatar of the Desolation like this. But her tongue doesn’t burn, even as Agnes trembles and clenches around her. Even as Gertrude traces a well-practiced message between her clit and core. She tastes disarmingly human, of earth and salt, and when she comes she’s gasping her name and near crying.

_Tell me something you can feel._

Agnes, embodiment of fire and destruction and helpless devotion, finds Gertrude’s lips. The flame eternal, after all. Agnes, unquestionably her undoing, tastes herself and smiles.

And what Gertrude feels-

(Chest heaving and heart racing and knowing that what she must _ceaselessly_ keep from the Eye)

-is undoubtedly love.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Criticism and comment are always welcome.


End file.
